Thranduil's Song
by Galahan
Summary: Thranduil has a sudden urge to write a song. Unfortunately, he's not a very good songwriter. Or singer. Poor, poor Mirkwood elves. Read and Review.


Disclaimer: I don't own it. But you already knew that, didn't you?  
  
A/N: This is a plotbunny fic. The plotbunny came from SkyFire's generator. I'll tell you what it is at the end. Telling it now would make the whole story pointless. In case you haven't read any of my other plotbunny fics, eating lunch with Glorfindel usually results in strange and often unpleasant events.  
  
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Thranduil's Song  
  
Thranduil fancied himself a good songwriter. Everyone else, however, knew better. His songs were terrible. No one ever said that, though. No one wished to incur the elven king's wrath. They all remember what happened last time...  
  
But today, Thranduil had found some inspiration. This was rare, a thing for which all of Mirkwood was immensely grateful. He was going to write about a rabid Uruk-hai that liked watching the sunset near Shelob's lair. His messengers had reported the information a few days ago. It seemed a strange coincidence that today, like any other day he gained inspiration on, he had eaten lunch with Glorfindel. Apparently the residents of Mirkwood had not yet realized the connection, for Glorfindel had not yet been stoned to death.  
  
Thranduil worked steadily for a few hours. When he was finished it looked something like this:  
  
I've heard of an Orc  
  
Who doesn't like pork  
  
But likes instead, sunsets to view.  
  
When he watches, everyone says, "EEEEEEEEWWW!!!"  
  
Now, near Shelob's lair  
  
He has no one to share  
  
The pretty sunsets  
  
With and over his stench he frets.  
  
Recently, the Orc was bitten  
  
By a creature smitten  
  
With rabies  
  
Who was trying to protect her babies.  
  
So now he's rabid, too,  
  
That poor Orc named Fabid-doo.  
  
Thranduil immediately rushed off to find his chief advisor. When he did, his advisor looked very relieved. "My lord, thank Elbereth, you've finally finished that treaty offer for the Men of Gondor that is four months late," he said.  
  
Thranduil suddenly looked a little guilty. "No," he said, "but I have done something just as important."  
  
The other elf looked a bit worried, but said, "You mean you've finished compiling the reports of activity at Dol Guldur that you promised Elrond at the council seven years ago?"  
  
Thranduil looked even more guilty, but said, "No, it's a bit more important than that."  
  
The advisor scratched his head for a moment and tried to think of what else his king could mean. After a somewhat-long pause he said, "You mean that you've finally picked a wedding gift for Elrond and Celebrian? It's only been a few years since Celebrian left for Valinor. I'm sure Elrond wouldn't consider it too, too late."  
  
Thranduil sighed and said huffily, "Of course not! They never should have married. Celebrian really loved me, not that idiot Peredhel!"  
  
The advisor just nodded and smiled. He had a hard time not laughing, as he clearly remembered Celebrian turning down Thranduil many times. She'd even thrown him into a freezing pond one winter when he'd refused to stop spouting horrible love poetry at her and leaving her wilted flowers everywhere.  
  
"So what exactly DID you do, my lord?" the chief advisor meekly asked.  
  
Thranduil glared at the elf as if it was perfectly obvious what he had locked himself up in his study all afternoon to do. "If you'd just let me finish, I'd tell you, since you're obviously much too dense to figure anything out yourself. But you didn't want to listen, so I'm not telling you!"  
  
The set of Thranduil's face made him look as if he was a two-year-old about to throw a temper tantrum. The chief advisor, however, had not risen that high by being unable to read his lord's mood. He knew that the safest thing to do was play along.  
  
"I am dying to know, my lord, what marvelous thing you have done. Spare me this horrid suspense," the advisor gushed.  
  
This seemed to make Thranduil very happy, for he sing-songed, "I'm not telling!" with a big grin on his face, then stuck his tongue out at the advisor. The chief advisor hated these games, but valued his head too much to not play along.  
  
"My lord, do not be so cruel as to keep me in eternal suspense!" Anyone with half a brain would have realized that the advisor wanted to strangle Thranduil. Thranduil, apparently, did not have half a brain.  
  
Thranduil sighed. "Oh, all right." It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that the elven king was feigning his hesitation. The advisor had half a brain, but still had to play along like the court fool. "Goodie!" he shouted.  
  
It was obvious to those without half a brain that Thranduil's hesitation was completely faked when he shouted, like a six-year-old, "I wrote a song!" and beamed with pride.  
  
The chief advisor had to work very hard to not faint from horror. This was worse news than when they had received word that Sauron was back. And Thranduil was now glaring at him for taking too long to be incredibly impressed. The advisor thought fast, then said, "I am stunned with joy, my great lord! It has been many years since you last graced us with one of you marvelous songs!"  
  
This seemed to appease Thranduil, for he smiled and said, "I am glad to hear that! Send out the word that I have written a wonderful song! There is to be a feast tonight, after which I shall sing my beautiful song."  
  
The feast started at the normal time, even though Thranduil had only decided that one was to be held an hour before the start. He had apparently forgotten that it was an important holiday and that everyone was going to be attending the feast anyway. The feast was normal at the beginning.  
  
Thranduil thought it was a great shame that 173 of his people had become so violently ill that they needed to leave immediately with three times that many people assisting them. He made a mental note to execute the cook the next time he got bored. It had been many years since the current cook's predecessor had met his untimely end, so perhaps the current cook had gotten careless.  
  
It was an even greater shame that 563 more people had managed to cut themselves so badly with their knives that they had to be escorted to the healers by two other elves. It was almost as if someone was deliberately trying to ruin his show. Then Thranduil thought again, and decided that no one would DARE try such a thing. Many heads would roll for such an offense to so great a king, he thought.  
  
After the feast was finished, Thranduil began singing in his oh-so- wonderful shrill, squeaky voice, people could not restrain their groans. Thranduil, however, interpreted this to mean that his song brought them much pleasure and happiness. He therefore graced them all to many encores. Several elves passed out during each time around. Thranduil assumed that the wonder and joy his song inspired must have been too much for them to handle.  
  
By the time the sun had risen, the clearing was littered with passed out elves. Only Thranduil's chief advisor was still conscious. He was watching the sunrise with a dreamy look on his face.  
  
"Do you think it was a hit?" Thranduil asked. There was no response from the chief advisor, so Thranduil went over and shook him, then asked his question again. The chief advisor looked puzzled, as if he hadn't quite heard the question. Thranduil was about to ask again when he saw cotton sticking out of a pointy ear. He ripped it out and roared, "YOU BLOCKED OUT MY WONDERFUL SONG? HOW COULD YOU? I'LL HAVE YOU EXECUTED FOR THIS!!!!!!!!"  
  
The advisor had had it. He snapped. "THAT'S IT!! I'VE HAD IT WITH YOU AND YOUR STUPID, CHILDISH ATTITUDE, YOUR NON-EXISTENT WORK ETHIC, AND YOUR CONSTANT EXECUTIONS! NOT TO MENTION THOSE HORRIBLE SONGS!! I'M GOING TO IMLADRIS AND NEVER COMING BACK!!!" This said, he set off in the direction of Imladris and was never seen in Mirkwood again.  
  
Thranduil was quite stunned by this. He decided to take a walk in the woods. As he went, he sang his wonderful song to himself as he went. When all the animals fled before him, he frowned. They shouldn't be so jealous of his wonderful singing voice and his beautiful song. After all, they made pretty noises, too. But who would want to listen to that all day. Unless it was a pig...Thranduil understood that. He liked pigs. They never ran away from him in jealousy. They understood how special he was.  
  
It was thinking such thoughts as these that led Thranduil to a pigsty near his castle. His last conscious thought asleep was that he was glad that he'd made the pig the official animal of Mirkwood. Then he fell asleep. Still inside the pigsty.  
  
That night, the elf who kept the pigs came out to feed them dinner and found Thranduil. "Honey," he shouted to his wife, "Are those fellows still looking for the king? I've found him here with the pigs and it doesn't look like he wants to leave any time soon."  
  
The royal guard was there within five minutes to 'escort King Thranduil back to the castle.' The pig-keeper and his wife decided to ignore the screams of "NOO! Please! Let me go back to them!"  
  
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Plotbunny: Thranduil writes a bad song about a rabid Uruk-hai that likes watching the sunset near Shelob's lair.  
  
A/N: I trust the really bad song was suitably bad, no? Drop a review and tell me how you liked this. 


End file.
